In Want of a Wife
by gardeniagardens
Summary: What happens to the man that needs to control everything when he meets the woman who wants to let it all go? Kyouya x OC (Genoveva)
1. Chapter 1

**a/n- **Hello! Let me know what you think of this story in the favorites/reviews. If it gets good feedback, I'll happily continue.

Yes, this is another story with my OC, Genoveva. I'm trying a new love story with them. Things will be different about her character, how they meet...mostly because I'm a little older and write a little differently.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Kyouya Ootori was meant to die alone. Powerful, but alone. It was a fact that'd been drilled into him ever since he was a young boy. As the third son, he was nothing. He would earn nothing. No one would give him anything. Insignificance in its purest form. His own father had made it clear every day of his life that in order to be anything more, he had to be anything but.

It was like telling a barreling train that it couldn't move another inch. Kyouya was a tempered force to be reckoned with, and reluctant to accept his fate. Even into his adolescent years, he worked to make a name for himself outside of the voodoo 'third son' realm. He was Kyouya: cool, intelligent and above all, wise beyond his years. Those who knew him, felt a strange mix of fear and respect for him. He knew they did: he could see it in their eyes. And deep down inside, that made him happy, for it meant he'd become a little more than the nothing he was destined to be.

Everyone feared him. Everyone, that is, except for Tamaki. He still danced around the man like he was a plaything, still called him 'mommy' on a day-in, day-out basis. And right now, he was desperately trying to gain the bespectacled man's attentions. "Kyoooouuyyyaaa…" he whined, dragging out the man's name as he perched on the edge of the loveseat. "Come sit with us!"

Kyouya looked up from his ministrations in his notebook to see three pairs of eyes locked on him. So the twins had joined in on the game, then? Figures. They were attracted to the most interesting thing in the room like moths to a light. His glasses caught the light as he met their gaze. "Don't you three have work to do?" he frowned.

"But mo-"

"Tamaki," Kyouya interrupted, his face darkening. "I'm sure your guests wish to be tended to." Tamaki yelped, and in a flash, all three had turned to face their guests again. When the din of the room raised to it's prior levels, Kyouya took a deep breath and stared into his notebook. All there stood was a singular quote, one he'd been painstakingly tracing over and over again for the past hour.

_Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym. _

His jaw tensed, and he snapped the notebook shut. That's what he got for watching that documentary on Stephen King last night. For a horror writer, he really knew how to single out a man's fears. Not that Kyouya had any. Fears were for lesser men. Fears were for men without ambition. Fears-

"Kyouya-senpai?" A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, and he stiffened. Haruhi was standing next to his table, holding a small tray of empty tea cups and giving him a wide-eyed look.

He peeled the glasses from his face and dug his knuckles into his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "What is it, Haruhi?" he muttered, not hiding the irritation he felt at being interrupted yet again.

"You told me to let you know whenever we start running low on tea," she started, setting the tray down on the edge of Kyouya's table.

His focus was still on the knuckles providing sweet relief for his growing headache. "...And?"

"We're running low on tea," she said dumbly, and he pulled his hand away from his face. Their eyes met, and he could see another question hovering in them. Still-would she ask it? Would she have the courage? "Are you feeling alright, Kyouya-senpai?"

"I'm fine, Haruhi," he shrugged it off. Sure, he'd had no more than four hours of sleep a night and the budget had remained untouched for the past day, but when was that news? Certainly not now. No, his shortcomings would be just that-his. He picked up his glasses and set them back on his nose. "Thank you for letting me know about the tea. I'll be sure to get some more shipped in soon."

She was slow to respond, still staring at him with those brown eyes. When she finally started, he noticed just how much she resembled an owl. Great big eyes that blinked slowly into focus. "It's not a problem, Kyouya-senpai." And with that she picked up the tray and walked away, re-joining the activities on the other side of the Third Music Room. Kyouya looked after her for a moment, before returning his attentions to his closed notebook. He was about to resume writing-or rather, etching- when his laptop dinged. He glanced at his watch-right on time. The emails never failed. He reached over and pulled the laptop close, flipping the screen up to read his latest email from DateChat.

It was his latest self-improvement venture, and one that he had ambiguous feelings towards. When it came to budgeting and management, he'd found nothing but success with the more effort he threw into it. But with DateChat….there'd been a long period of silence. No responses to his carefully-orchestrated minimalist profile, no upvotes or downvotes. It'd driven him positively mad, but he kept at it. He'd purposely selected DateChat, after all. It was one of the only dating services that offered no option for social class or last names. There, he was nothing more than an email and a small biography about what he felt pertinent to the matter at hand. In this case, his 'hobbies' and 'aspirations'.

And he found when he shrank down his biography to nothing more than a few sentences, there was a substantial increase in results. Women looking for hookups, one-night stands and what Kyouya was sure were a few prostitutes were keen on getting in touch with him in a heartbeat. It was success-although not exactly the kind he'd been looking for. So, after altering his preferences (or rather, actually bothering to specify them at all), DateChat was starting to become a helpful tool in his efforts to socialize outside of the Host Club.

Not that they knew. No, no. They'd never know so long as he lived and breathed. Tamaki would over-romanticize it, the twins would be hysterical from laughter, and the other three would silently judge but outwardly congratulate. He didn't need congratulations. He needed some sanity, and DateChat was his best and most logical option. So the Host Club would remain blissfully ignorant, and Kyouya had the chance to fill the one hole in his life's resume. With a resigned click, he opened the envelope blinking at the bottom of his screen. He'd set it so it would notify him when a new message arrived in his chat, and there was only one he'd been following.

Without a moment's hesitation, he clicked on the link. She'd replied-finally. They'd gone through all the droll topics - what were her hobbies, what did she like to eat, and such. Not to say they weren't fascinating answers, but still. For Kyouya, it was just part of the weeding out process. He'd been hooked by so many...less-than-reputable women that he'd had time to devise a long list of questions and appropriate answers before he really got into a new contact. This woman was the first one to pass every last one with flying colors. She was interesting and confident. Honest and self-reliant. Above all, she didn't use those ridiculous emoticons that DateChat offered. So far, so good.

But then the page loaded, and there stood the answer to his latest question in small, electric blue text. He could almost imagine her saying it aloud, despite not knowing her face or voice.

"I'm a study abroad student at Ouran Academy. You know it?" Her face, empty of features, tipped down to the pale yellow dress every guest wore. And it was all, very suddenly, real. And for a moment, Kyouya forgot how to breathe. It wasn't until Tamaki had rushed over and began to pound on his back that he regained his faculties and sent the man away with a harsh glare. ASugarSoSweet, the only woman to pass so many of his ridiculous tests, was a student at Ouran Academy. A student...here. Maybe she'd even been a guest. Had he hosted her? His mind twisted and bent to try to put her answers to a face, but came up empty. It didn't matter that in this very moment, they were within a mile of each other. Kyouya hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

Not that it would stay that way for long. Kyouya knew better than to delay his answers. She only ever responded in a very specific window of time, and he was treading on the edges of it. His fingers flew across the keyboard, lips silently mouthing the words. "I'm a student at Ouran as well. We should set something up. I'd really like to meet you in person."


	2. Chapter 2

The steady thrum of a well-oiled sewing machine filled the Hitchachiin studio. Every table was filled with fabric waiting to be cut or patterns half-drafted. A dress form bared it all from the waist down as she waited for a skirt to her carefully draped bodice. The studio was a minefield of pins and scraps of fabric. K-pop playing over the sleek speakers next to the door kept spirits high. In short, a show was right around the corner, and the Hitchachiin design department was hard at work.

Or, at least, their intern was. Hitchachiin-sama herself never stayed later than 4, citing a lack of creative juices. Not that Genoveva minded. They were two ships passing in the night. During the day, while Genoveva was in class, Hitchachiin-sama would put a pen to paper and work on the tiny finicky details that made her line a cut above the rest. Then, when classes let out and Genoveva arrived at the studio, they'd have a quick meeting and Hitchachiin-sama would give her a long list of tasks to be completed by the next morning. Then the woman would leave, and Genoveva would be left to her own devices in a studio three times the size of some of the classrooms at Ouran. It was absolute heaven for for a girl like Genoveva.

At that moment, she was pushing the last few inches of a black sheer skirt through the machine. Her expression was one of sheer determination- she'd only been at work for an hour and a half and she'd already cut the length of Hitachiin-sama's list in half. At this rate, she may even have the chance to leave before the sun went down. Not that she would - all that awaited her outside these studio doors was home. A shell of a house, really, since she was the only one living in it.

A familiar tune interrupted her work, and she silenced to machine to pick up her phone. "Ola, pai."

Her father's deep voice sounded distant and tinny over the tiny speaker. "Hello, dearest daughter of mine. How goes your schooling?"

Genoveva frowned as she glanced at her watch. "It's four in the morning in Brazil, father. Why are you awake?"

"I'm just sitting down to breakfast, dear. Don't you remember? I have a conference in London this week."

Genoveva mentally slapped herself - of course. Her father's shipments were being held up in London ports, and the problem had remained unresolved for so long he himself was now going to deal with it. "Yes, of course," she corrected herself. "How goes it?"

"Dull, as always. I'm glad I scheduled out a full week for this; these men work slow as snails."

Genoveva smiled. Her father was never one for showing affection, it just wasn't part of his nature. But she knew him well enough to understand that this was as close to a hug as she would ever get. These calls over breakfast were their way of saying 'I miss you'. "It'll get done, father. You always manage it."

"Are you doing well at Ouran?"

Genoveva stiffened. That was a loaded question, her father's favorite to ask. He hadn't been too keen on sending his only daughter halfway around the world, and had the power to pull her out at any second. Her next words were careful, her voice level. "Very well. I'm on track to remain near the top of my class. Hitachiin-sama is keeping me very busy with looking over her sales performance across the country." A lie, but one her father wanted to hear. To find out her daughter was conspicuously designing would probably make him sputter hot coffee down his shirt.

"Sama?"

Genoveva paled - the delivery hadn't been flawless. The two languages were just too different, and she hadn't quite gotten the hang of Japanese honorifics yet. Genoveva shook her head. "Senora Hitachiin. My employer."

"Ah, yes. She has assured me that you are doing excellent work. However," his voice trailed off, and for a moment, there was nothing but dead air. Genoveva's laptop dinged. Then, "do not forget that this is your last year abroad. I will need you to return and become my daughter yet again after you finish your education at Ouran."

Genoveva was hardly listening anymore, her hands already pulling the laptop in front of her machine. "Of course, pai. Please, enjoy your day," she said automatically, and once he returned the sentiment, she ended the call. Her heart was pounding hard and heavy in her chest as she logged in. DateChat had been a surprising move for her, but not one without its benefits. For the first two years at Ouran, she'd been perfectly content with just making friends and acclimating to the new culture. It was a whole new world for her to investigate, and every moment outside school and studio was absorbed by Japanese studies. It was just what she'd dreamed of, the rush of a new world opening before her.

Then she hit a brick wall. Sure, she'd made some friends and her Japanese was nearly fluent and she could order whatever she wanted from the little restaurants around her home, but she still wanted more. There was an entire side to the culture she'd yet to grasp, and for some reason, it was the side that kept her awake. Or maybe that'd been the Stephen King documentary? The man had an eerie way of being the master of horror. Either way, it'd only grown worse over the past few months, and Genoveva found herself looking for a way to absolve herself of its constant lingering. That's when DateChat stepped in. With it's relative anonymity, she could practice her Japanese on all walks of life without guilt. After all, they were all looking for the same thing: companionship. Even if Genoveva wasn't entirely convinced that she wanted to be tied down to a man.

ShadowKing seemed to understand that. In fact, he seemed to understand everything about her. All of his responses were inquisitive, well-thought out. He was everything she could have asked for in a practicing partner, and with every new message she received from him, her Japanese grew in strength and confidence. He'd recently asked her where she attended school. She'd been careful to keep her identity safe, and he'd been keen on doing the same, but she found no harm in telling him. Not only was Ouran enormous, but she felt as though he was worthy of her trust. Now, her laptop indicated he had something to say. In her mind's eye, she could imagine him a few feet away, whispering to her the good news. He was a student at Ouran as well! That was something that was far outside her wildest dreams, but she couldn't stem the bubbling happiness rising in her chest. Her hands flew quickly over the keys.

_Friday evening. 7pm, at the Sushiryori Inose._

It'd been the first restaurant she'd even visited in Japan, and the food was phenomenal. But she wasn't feeling sentimental when she picked it, no. The price was upscale, and she was curious. She didn't want to learn the Japanese of a beggar; she'd been in high-class company for too long. She'd worked too hard. Hopefully ShadowKing felt the same way.

* * *

When he'd gotten home to find the email in his inbox, Kyouya'd nearly flipped the desk. Nearly. Instead, a small knowing smile had crept on his lips and he'd locked himself in his room for the rest of the evening, even barring Fuyumi from entering. There was much to be prepared, for she'd left so much out of the response. First of all, a question mark. She was direct, leaving no options for Kyouya to arrange something a little more familiar to him. He knew absolutely nothing about the restaurant she had mentioned, and an hour had to be dedicated to resolving that. Sushiryori Inose was upscale sushi, with elegant photos of a dimly lit dining room filling it's home page. Candles, abstract paintings, food art-the whole nine yards. So ASugarSoSweet had taste. And a wallet, he noticed when the menu was devoid of price tags. Interesting. He scrolled further, resting his hand on his chin. It was within a few miles of Ouran, which made her claim of attending the school more plausible. She could've been lying, after all. Kyouya had met plenty of deceitful women to wipe any notion of innocence in all from his thoughts.

When he felt more at ease about the restaurant, the next question bubbled to the surface. What was he to wear? Typically Fuyumi would have some input on this, as she frequently dug through his drawers and closet to 'help'. But he had barred Fuyumi, and thus was on his own. Kyouya had never been a stickler for fashion, but he was always insistent on making a good first impression. With that in mind, he pulled a dark pair of slacks and a white button-down from his closet and tucked them inside a garment bag to protect the clothes from the prying hands of Fuyumi. Easy enough. But when his mind travelled over what he was to wear, it ran into a roadblock.

How was he to recognize her? Her profile had no photos, no hints of what she looked like. Then again, that's was one of the reasons he approved her in the first place. There was no obviously-dated photograph or unbearable tacky list of measurements on her page. Still...wasn't there supposed to be some kind of traditions around these things? That was what all the research he'd done said. Bring a red rose. A brightly-colored scarf. Kyouya had none of these things on hand, and knew he would feel foolish bringing them along. He would just have to let the fates decide if they ran into one another, he decided as he sat down to his desk. Out of his backpack he pulled his workbook, and settled down to homework.

Minutes later, he was pacing the room, jaw set. The fates?! What was he thinking? He couldn't let something as foolish as the fates decide if ASugarSoSweet would find him. If she wouldn't reply to his message before the date (and he knew she wouldn't, for she only replied in a narrow window of time in the day), he'd just have to figure it out for himself. Flipping open his laptop, he pulled up their chat logs. One by one, he printed screenshot after screenshot of their message logs, and sat down on his bed with a highlighter. He'd just tease the information from her responses - easy enough. Everyone always let a little something slip through.

Everyone, that is, except for ASugarSoSweet. He'd reached the fifteenth page of their correspondence and the cap still remained firmly planted on his highlighter. Nothing. Not a hint as to where she lived, or who her parents were...or anything. Any response was carefully worded and presented as to answer his question, but nothing more. Despite a growing headache, Kyouya felt a faint smile ghost his lips. She was clever, whoever she was. More clever than she'd let on.

Kyouya found himself looking more and more forward to the date as the night waned into the early hours of the morning. His homework remained untouched as he continued to pour over their chat logs, as if absorbing every last response to his carefully worded questions. They were two rivals of equal caliber, two like-minded adversaries. When his alarm clock showed four in the morning, he finally set the last page down and cast his gaze back to the garment bag on the far wall. Tomorrow evening couldn't get here soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

a/n - I'm just having too much fun writing this.

* * *

Kyouya stood outside the Sushiryori Inose at exactly 6:55 the following evening, with instructions to his driver not to return until he called. Even his driver had given him a curious look; Kyouya was usually one for prompt figures and a perfect schedule. But his instructions were not without reason. Right now, he was just Kyouya. Not Kyouya Ootori, with the father who could afford for him to be chauffeured about. Not the third son of one of the most powerful businessmen in the country. Just Kyouya, standing on the sidewalk of an innocuous restaurant in expected date attire. It was all carefully constructed, for this date could any number of terrible or fantastic ways and if it did go off the deep end, he wanted to be able to make a clean break. Just Kyouya, with an exit strategy.

His gaze traveled down the length of the street, where a few cars drove slowly by. It wasn't busy by any means, but then again, it was a Friday night. Many of the students in the area had parties to attend and their parents found work of pleasure at the end of the week. Further his eyes traveled, until he'd turned around completely and was staring into the Sushiryori Inose itself. The first word that came to mind was 'small', and the restaurant was exactly that. There were only four tables in the dining room, and a small bar running down one side. The lighting was bright, golden and highlighted every sparkling surface and wooden accent. There was no mood lighting, no attempt at an atmosphere that the restaurant didn't need. Still, it didn't look like a typical date place. In fact, the three tables that were filled were filled with two sets of businessmen and a woman dining alone. At the bar sat a couple of tourists, their well-padded backpacks suggesting that they were hiking through the country. Kyouya pursed his lips; why had she picked this place? For such a carefully-constructed girl, this recommendation seemed a little off the wall.

From behind him came the sound of tires over asphalt as they slowed to a stop. For a brief second, Kyouya's heart sped up. It had to be her. _Finally. _Then his nails dug into his palm and he took a deep breath. No need to get worked up; there was still plenty of room for disappointment. A car door opened, and he slowly turned around.

-and came face to face with Brazilian flags. They were bright green, and not hard to miss in the early evening moonlight as they waved in the faint breeze. The pair of flags adorned a sleek black car, from which a driver had emerged and was now walking around to open the back door. He was very tanned, his skin almost like leather. Kyouya could hear him speak to the person inside the car, but he could not see them through the incredibly dark windows. They were discussing a time for him to return, and he could hear a soft voice emerge from within the car.

"Well, sir, let's take a look," she said, and the driver stepped back. A head of deep brown hair, so well-groomed that it caught the neon lights of the restaurants up and down the street, was first to emerge, followed by two honey-colored eyes as she turned to stare directly at Kyouya. There was a moment where they just looked at one another, and he knew she could see the gears whirring in his head as he worked to process every feature of her face because she was doing exactly the same thing. Analyzing one another, looking for cracks in the mask to draw out answers. Then, she blinked and gave him a sweet, well-practiced smile before turning to her driver. "You may return when I call, Jiro. He's passed," she said, stooping to pick up a handbag from within the car before moving to meet Kyouya on the sidewalk.

"Good evening," he intoned.

"You're not going to ask who I am?" she asked as she smoothed out her green dress. "Or if I'm the one you're waiting for?"

"You are the one I'm waiting for," Kyouya said, holding out his arm. She took it, tanned skin contrasting against his pale shirt. "Otherwise you wouldn't have made such a grand entrance."

She glanced back towards her car, which was just pulling away from the sidewalk. "Grand? I don't know what you mean."

"That's a diplomatic vehicle," he said. "But you aren't a member of Brazilian politics." His father had trained him to recognize foreign diplomats at the drop of a hat, and although the president of Brazil had a daughter, she was not this….striking.

"Oh, Paula," she said, giving him a curious look. "Quite a few years my senior, I'm afraid. We've had her over a few times, however, for dinner and such."

She was powerful. He could see it in her, every last thing about her. The way she stood, the way she did not lean into him like a lovesick puppy but instead kept a respectable distance between the two. Every last inch of her was well taken care of, from neatly manicured nails to skin as smooth as butter. But most of all, there was the look in her eyes of something predatory. Sure, she masked it with an easy smile, but it was a hard thing to miss for Kyouya. He'd seen it many times before, the look of power, in his own father's grim expression. Still, whereas he avoided confrontation with his father, he caught himself unable to look away from this woman. "Shall we eat?" he finally managed, grateful for the way the restaurant lights masked his eyes behind his glasses.

She nodded, taking a step before stopping again. Those fierce eyes were looking at him again. "First, tell me your name," she insisted.

"Kyouya," he answered, almost automatically. "And yours?"

"Genoveva," she smiled again, and Kyouya felt himself smiling in return. No last names. Just Kyouya. And her name suited those predatory eyes to a 't'. Together, they walked into the restaurant, now fully content that this date could only go up from here.

Inose was an older man, with laugh lines wrinkling his face and a happy smile. Him and his wife had been running the restaurant since they were in their twenties. When Genoveva walked in, he greeted her with a megawatt smile and a deep bow. "Good evening, Genoveva-sama," he said, and she returned the greeting. "Who is your friend?"

"This is Kyouya-san," she said, glancing at him for approval. He nodded, bowing down as well. She continued, "I believe I called ahead."

Inose was still looking at Kyouya, recognition sparkling in his eyes. Kyouya returned the stare, daring him to say something to her. How long would he be able to keep up the innocent display, anyway, when half the country knew his father's name and face? But Inose just laughed, and directed them to the last empty table in the small restaurant. "I'm not surprised to see you in his company. Come, I saved a table just for you."

Inose was good enough at his craft that dinner was absolutely delicious. Although Kyouya had tried many varieties of sushi and many varieties of restaurant, he'd never tried something quite like what Inose had to offer. Everything was hand-made and fresh, served like pieces of artwork. Kyouya was pleasantly surprised at the food, but more so at his company. Despite those predatory eyes, she proved to be a great conversationalist. Although they covered none of the questions Kyouya had planned to ask (What class are you in? Why are in at Ouran? Who are you?), they were never silent for more than a few moments. They discussed life. They discussed hobbies. It was as though they reviewed all the inane questions he'd asked over the past few months in great and colorful detail, and it was like peeling back the layers of a deep, complex onion. It was just Kyouya and just Genoveva having a talk about nothing and everything all at once. At one point, he caught himself just staring at her as she talked, his side of the omakase relatively untouched. The way her lips moved, her eyes alight as she talked on about her work at a local studio- it was mesmerizing.

Even though there was no monetary benefit to be gained from her company, Kyouya felt no reason to leave.

* * *

He was well-trained in the art of pushing conversation. She could tell in a heartbeat, he knew what questions to ask and when to listen. It was the same training she'd received as a young child, after all. So she obliged him, continuing on and letting conversation drift in whatever direction he pleased. It felt like they were just summarizing what she'd already answered weeks, months ago-but she didn't mind. Kyouya was easy on the eyes, and his gentlemanly nature made her at ease. She dropped all regrets she had for setting up this meeting as soon as she saw him, and was glad that he didn't have any strange habits or embarrassing traits.

Still, he'd been staring for her for the past few minutes and was starting to get a little uncomfortable. His gaze was piercing, those dark eyes rimmed with thin glasses, watching her every word as it tumbled past her lips. She wasn't sure whether to be flattered or confused; his face was a blank slate. He hid his feelings so well that not even she could read them, and she considered herself an expert in the territory. And he had hardly touched the omakase that sat between them. Finally, she set her chopsticks down. "Is there something on your mind?"

His answer was smooth, practiced even. Then again, everything he said was like fluid, dropping off his silver-tongue and entrancing her. She felt as though she could never truly catch him off-guard. "You never told me your last name, Genoveva-sama," he cocked his head to the side, still watching her with those dark eyes.

She gave a dismissive wave. "Genoveva-san is fine. I'm fairly certain we're the same age, aren't we?"

"Genoveva-san," he corrected. "It is customary to introduce your whole name when meeting someone new. I'm just wondering why you didn't."

She sat back in her seat, eyes never leaving his. For the first time since the omakase was set on the table, she set down her chopsticks. "Do you place such great value on names, Kyouya-san?"

"Names tell a great deal about a person, and their personality," he nodded, leaning forward with one hand on his chin. "For example, Genoveva. Probably a derivation of Genevieve, the patron saint who guided the French into resisting the Huns."

She couldn't suppress a smile. For someone with not overly high hopes about this encounter, she found herself smiling quite a bit. "And you believe that suits me?"

"Perfectly," he murmured, picking up his chopsticks and beginning to eat.

Interesting. She didn't press it further. "But does that work for every name? Kyouya, for example…" she paused, frowning. His name, the combination of letters, it drew a blank. No meaning sprang to mind. Still, as her eyes traveled to that mask of a face, she realized it suited him. Mystery. Aloofness. A name with no meaning. "Forgive me, Japanese is not my first language, but I can't think of the meaning."

"It has none," he said, a shadow casting over his face. She'd seen that look before: somewhere deep in his thoughts, a memory haunted him.

She had grossly misstepped, and was quick to backtrack. "Last names would've ruined the spirit of the evening."

He'd just selected a lovely piece of fish, but gave pause at her words. "That's an interesting thing to say." The fish disappeared between those poised lips, and he set to selecting another.

She continued, happy that the dark moment was quickly dispelled. "Up to this point, I had believed first names were meaningless. A handle to identify something, nothing more. Therefore, excellent for a first date. In case this had all gone terribly wrong, a first name would be easy to forget." He continued to pull pieces of fish from the omakase, his eating quick and precise. It seemed he did everything that way. She continued on, "Last names, on the other hand, carry weight. There's history, family, titles and upbringing in last names. There's an...air that comes with a person's last name, whether they were brought up in the sewers or on the high street. And I find all these topics entirely too heavy for a first date."

He'd picked his side clean, and was now watching her, his chopsticks still hovering over the bones. For a moment, she was lost in his eyes. They were so dark, they were almost bottomless, and she felt herself tipping head over heels into those pits without a moment's hesitation. It was so easy to fall. Then he blinked, and she shuddered herself back into her seat. "Last names are too heavy for a first date, you say?" he muttered.

She nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "Entirely."

"Then how many dates before I can know your name fully?"

For the first time in her life, Genoveva's heart skipped a beat. The chopsticks, which she'd been toying with between her fingers, clattered onto her plate. A strange rush ran through her veins, and she felt as though she could fly. Kyouya had a silver tongue, and he knew how to use it. The man was a weapon. It took her a few moments to gather her wits and form words. "We'll have to see," she finally managed, unable to take the awestruck tone out of her voice.

Inose came to the table and handed Kyouya a small black portfolio that Genoveva recognized as the check. Without so much as a glance towards Genoveva, he signed off on the total and tucked away his card. She hadn't even noticed him take it out to pay. When Inose retreated to the counter, Kyouya rose to his feet. "How about we start with a second date?" he said, holding out his hand.

She looked from the hand to his face to Inose, who was smiling at them from behind the counter. It took all she had not to leap up into his arms, she was so elated. Instead, with a dignified sigh, she met his gaze and took his hand. "I would love to," she said, and together they walked out of Sushiryori Inose into the cool evening air.


	4. Chapter 4

"Takashi?" Two large brown eyes looked up at the tall senior.

"Hn."

"Did you see that Kyo-chan has a guest today?"

"What?" Haruhi couldn't help listening in. She'd been hovering around Honey-senpai's table with her tea tray to avoid Tamaki's clingy clutches, but only just now started listening. "You're not serious, Honey-senpai."

"I saw her when I came in! They're sitting right over there," one of the girls chimed in. Another one of Mori's guests turned around, and the entire group followed her pointed gaze. There, at his usual table, sat Kyouya typing away on his laptop. However, instead of his usual solitude, there was a young woman in a pale yellow dress seated next to him, also typing away. Haruhi could hardly believe their eyes; she never thought she'd see someone so similar to Kyouya. Same piercing gaze. Same intense expression. Same-

At the same exact moment, they both glanced up and found Haruhi's pointed stare. She felt her blood turn to ice, and nearly fumbled the tray. It took Mori's quickly reflexes to stop her from dropping the fine china altogether. His deep voice rumbled as he set the tray down on the table. "Are you alright?"

Haruhi couldn't tear her eyes away from the pair on the far side of the room, and barely managed a nod. "Fine," she murmured. It was just too strange. In her months working for the host club, she'd rarely seen anyone request Kyouya, much less him accept. He usually deferred his traffic to another host, citing 'difficult business' as an excuse. Haruhi always believed he just enjoyed the solitude, and that the sniveling girls that requested the 'cool-type' host would drive him up a wall. "I just never thought I'd see the day…" Was Kyouya...smiling?

"HARUHIIII!" Tamaki's face filled her vision, and she felt his full weight collapse against her. Mori was still standing close by, and for a brief second, she felt herself pressed into a sandwich between the two hosts. Then she was up, up and away as Mori lifted her away from the blonde and out of danger. His face was surprisingly passive as he set her down again, aside from a faint pink tinge across his cheeks.

"What is it, Tamaki-senpai?" she grumbled, still a little dazed from the sudden lift. She was aware of Mori's hands still resting on her shoulders, but felt an odd comfort knowing he could pull her away at any moment. Anything to get away from the lunatic blonde pouting in front of her.

But his pout was quickly replaced with a look of fierce determination. "I need to borrow your tea set," he said, clapping his hand down on his open palm. "It's important!"

Haruhi balked. "Ne? For what?" The blonde was notoriously wild-limbed, and she couldn't afford another broken tea set adding to her debt.

He leaned in close, giving her a sidelong glance. "A very secret mission."

Honey appeared at Haruhi's side. "Does it have to do with Kyo-chan's date?"

"Date?!" Tamaki's eyes were the size of dinner plates. From somewhere, the twins slithered in to flank either side of their king.

"Yea, boss, she's been here a couple of times now," Hikaru leered.

"Haven't you noticed? Kyouya's been in unusually good spirits the past few weeks," Kaoru added, smirking. Tamaki's pale expression said he hadn't seen a thing.

Haruhi put a thoughtful finger to her chin. "He did take a little off of my debt yesterday for washing all of the Host Club dishes," she said.

"He bought those new costumes you asked for, boss," Hikaru added.

"And he bought more cakes for me!" Honey chimed in, pointing to his cakes on the table. The pile had grown substantially, and Haruhi could almost smell the sugar from where they stood.

"Honey-senpai, you're going to get a cavity at this rate," she muttered, and he looked at her with wide-eyed disbelief.

"Takashi!" he wailed, and the tall senior swept him up into his great arms. The little blonde crumpled into his friend's shoulder. "I'm not going to get a cavity, am I?"

"Hn," was the man's only reply.

"Don't you all have guests to be attending to?" a sinister voice interrupted them, and the group of hosts looked up to see that Kyouya had risen from his seat and joined their impromptu circle.

"Kyouya-senpai!" Haruhi stammered, caught off-guard. "I'm sorry."

Tamaki clamped himself to Kyouya's arm. "Mommy, who is your...guest?" His eyes were great blue pools, and he resembled a pitiful creature.

Kyouya glanced back to the table at the far side of the room, and not a single one of the hosts missed the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Genoveva..." he said, and the smile disappeared from his eyes. With a firm shake, he removed Tamaki from his person. "Don't you all have work to be doing?" he snapped. Under the shadow king's fearsome gaze, all six hosts shrank away to their guests.

* * *

Kyouya returned to the table, his expression grim. "Idiots," he muttered. "Every last one of them." He sank into his seat and started to type again, but Genoveva's hand on his stopped him. When he looked up, she was watching him with those golden eyes.

"Something still has you coming back," she pointed out.

Kyouya was still hyper - aware of the warmth from her skin on his. It filled his every last thought. They'd been seeing one another for a few weeks now, but hadn't gotten past any touching that wasn't accidental or cloaked in formality. This was different. Intimate, even. There was a pleasant tingling running up his arm from the contact, and so he didn't shy away. His thoughts were buzzing. "What do you mean?"

"Just what have you invested in this club that has you coming back every day?"

It was a question he often asked himself. He broke their stare to look around the room. Tamaki was trying to watch them without getting caught. The twins were mid-show. The other three worked as seamlessly as always, their guests brimming with happiness. "This club wouldn't last a week without me," he finally said. "Between the sourcing of fine china and Tamaki's-"

"The taller blonde one?"

"Yes. He demands outrageously expensive events to be held on almost a weekly basis," Kyouya continued, pressing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose.

He could see her searching for the right word. "So he is your...King?"

"Yes." Kyouya couldn't help inwardly cringing. The blonde romantic was King, and everyone followed their blind king to the end.

"But you are in charge," she concluded, and his gaze returned to hers. She was watching him curiously, as though the dynamics of their club were the most fascinating thing. It felt as though she was studying him, but so long as her hand remained wrapped around his, he didn't complain. "You hold the reins to the King."

He could only nod. She'd described it so perfectly. Without really thinking about it, he turned his hand so their fingers could intertwine. She complied so readily, it felt natural. "Tell me your last name," he said abruptly.

Her eyebrows shot up. "You haven't tried to look me up yet?"

The thought had crossed his mind. Many times, in fact. He lay awake at night wondering just why she put such weight on last names, and how she knew he did too. Every other student could be traced and valued through their last name, and It would've been easy to do the same for Genoveva. He'd even caught the records assistant in the hall a few times to ask, but always ended up making an excuse to leave Something held him back. "No," he admitted.

"I'm impressed," she smiled. "For someone who so readily carries the files of his hosts around-"

"You've been reading over my shoulder?"

"I'm a curious girl," she shrugged. "You can tell a lot about a man from how he carries himself at work. Which makes me all the more surprised that you don't have anything on me. I do attend Ouran, after all. Class 3-A, if you're wondering."

The same has Honey and Mori, then. And to be in the A class...she had to be well-off. "So will you tell me your last name?"

"Santos." It drew up a blank, but Kyouya could feel his fingers itching to type it in on the keyboard. As if she could read his mind, she withdrew her hand from his and motioned towards his laptop. "Go ahead," she said. Kyouya moved to type, but his fingers never struck a key. There was that hesitation again, that electric buzzing in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He couldn't say what it was, but It made him close his laptop and seek the warmth of her hands again.

"To me, you will remain just Genoveva." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze

She quirked an eyebrow. "Then why ask at all?"

He didn't know. It was a question without an answer, and and his rational mind insisted that he must seek closure on the matter. But something stopped him, again. It was a rare thing to encounter, and he didn't know what to do about it. His mind was electric, buzzing with the feeling of her fingers sliding between his. Slowly, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand, relishing the sweet smell of her perfume. When he pulled away, she was smiling. "Such charm. It's a wonder more girls don't request you."

"Some still do. But I only want one guest."

"Won't the Host Club suffer if one of it's hosts isn't hosting? You're losing profits by making yourself so exclusive." There was a furrow between her eyebrows, as though this matter truly concerned her. He reached over with his free hand to rub the lines of worry away, and let his hand cup her chin. Now that they'd touched once, he couldn't get enough. The shocks running up and down his arms were unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

"I've found greater merits from being exclusive," he murmured. The lines of worry faded from her face, and were replaced by the most brilliant smile he'd ever seen. Her eyes glittered like a thousand gemstones.

That happiness would not last.

* * *

As Genoveva rode in the backseat of her sleek black car, her mind wandered. Hitachiin-sama had left for her two week fashion tour yesterday, but she'd left her keys behind. So although there would be no new work assignments, Genoveva would have the studio and all of It's machines all to herself for the next couple of weeks. The thought elated her; she'd get some headway on her own projects that'd been shoved to the wayside. There was nothing like standing on the cusp of an evening of _designing _for her. She lived for these nights on her own.

It only added to her mood that Kyouya had been so affectionate during the club meeting. For the past few visits, he'd been unnaturally stiff and formal. They'd usually sat in companionate silence, as he worked on matters of the Host club and she easily balanced the books for Hitachiin-sama. She hadn't lied about that, after all. It just wasn't the main reason Hitachiin-sama hired her. But today, Kyouya had finally used the same charm that had her floored on their first date. It stirred up the same happiness in her chest, like like a million butterflies released inside her heart, when he spoke such sweet things. She let out a soft sigh, hoping those kinds of feelings never faded.

The sound of her ringtone buzzing inside her purse shook her out of her love struck daze. When she saw who it was, she tried desperately to clear her mind. It would do no good to have her father clued in to the fact that she had feelings for a non-native boy. "Ola, pai," she said calmly, the phone pressed to her ear.

"Ola, my dear. I just went on a fantastic hunting trip with Arroyo's son. He put down a tiger with two shots," he announced.

Her father's hunting trips were not uncommon events; he often called to celebrate his latest kill. What was strange was that this time, he took a companion. He frequently preferred preferred to hunt with no one but an experienced guide, citing the silence as 'critical to his success'. Genoveva tried to brush the clouds of suspicion from her mind. "Did you shoot anything?" she asked, trying trying to change the subject away from his companion.

"Just a few deer. Hardly bigger than a yearling, so no good. But Paulo says there is an excellent hunting ground not too far from the villa. We'll probably have better luck there."

"You've made plans for another hunt already?" Genoveva couldn't hide the surprise in her voice.

"Of course, dear. Paulo was very interested In coming along again. He said he'd heard all about you. 'The beautiful daughter abroad', he called you."

Genoveva stiffened as as the car slowed to a stop. She knew that tone; it wasn't her first time hearing it. Every now and then, her father found it necessary to play matchmaker for his daughter. It happened on almost a monthly basis, so she wondered how she hadn't seen this coming. Her driver opened the door, and she quickly stepped out and strode into the studio. Her mind was awash with emotions; the previous elation she'd felt with Kyouya was now giving way to frustration. The men her father set her up with were all the same: tall, muscled meatheads who wore their every thought on their sleeve. There was no intelligence, or even wit, behind those dull eyes. Only muscle to keep Genoveva, the jewel of her father's life, safe while she ran the empire her father had so carefully built. It was obscene.

"What is it, minha querida? You're very quiet today."

"I know what you're doing, papa," she snapped, jamming her key into the lock. It gave way readily, as though it knew better than to stand In her way. "Every few months you suggest I go on a date with an oil tycoon's son, or a medical conglomerate's firstborn. We meet, under your duress, and he turns out to be as dimwitted as a post."

Her father's voice was firm. "I'm just trying to protect you, Genoveva. There are many fathers who would simply cast their daughter aside. I'm trying to find you a suitable partner for your ambitions."

She was about to lash back, but bit her lip at the last second. Today was not the day to bring up that argument. She would not have her father spoiling her good mood. "Forgive me. I just wish that you did not set up these arrangements when I am so far away. It hardly seems fair," she lied, closing the door to the studio behind her and waving goodbye to her driver.

"Fair enough. But we will discuss this when you return," he insisted, before ending the call abruptly. Despite her effort to appease him, he was not happy. And now, neither was Genoveva as she slumped down in front of a machine. Leave it to her father to remind her of the promises she'd left behind.

* * *

Yoshio had been eyeing his third son all evening. Then again, so had much of the table. It was hard to miss the shift in the boy's attitude. That, and he'd heard some...interesting news today. Surely, the two had to be related.

"There is a girl a year your senior, Kyouya," Yoshio broke the silence, and Kyouya's gaze broke away from the window to meet his father's. "A Santos. Do you know her?"

Kyouya set down his fork and neatly dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Of course," he nodded. His father was bound to find out someday. His sources of information were virtually limitless. Still, he didn't have to know the extent of their relationship, and he knew better than to mention the Host Club at the table. "A perfectly reasonable girl."

"Yes," Yoshio agreed, sitting back in his chair. "I thought so too. See to it that you befriend her. She, and her father, would prove a most valuable relationship."

Kyouya inwardly cringed. Every girl he heard of was a potential life partner for his third son. "Of course, otosama," he answered plainly, returning to his food. Inside, his stomach was churning. He'd have to work harder on keeping his newfound happiness a secret from his father. The man had a habit of snuffing those things out like a candle.


End file.
